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I recently accepted a position from Teach and Learn with Georgia, a Georgian Ministry of Education program designed to bring native speakers of English into classrooms around the country. I will be moving to Georgia in August of 2014 to begin my assignment.

Before this latest adventure, I studied at Bogazici University in Istanbul Turkey and at Azerbaijan University of Languages. I speak English German Spanish, Turkish Azerbaijani and Uzbek and am currently trying my hand at Georgian.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

School has started

This week at school was…interesting. Admittedly I’ve never
taught anywhere before so it is difficult to tell whether this is normal or
not. From the students end, it always seemed like my teacher’s had it all
figured out, but this was probably my awe of them talking and not reality. I
certainly was in way over my head. The schedule wasn’t quite set yet so I was
never quite sure which classes I was going to. I simply starting walking into
school knowing that I could be anything from 1st to 12th
grade and that I could only hope that I had a co-teacher with me. I did several
times get put into a class on my own, which I discovered is one of the most
terrifying things in the entire world. Particularly when the students have
little or no idea what it is that you’re saying to them. I was sent to the
first graders on my own one day, and it was their first day of English. My
Georgian was not up to it. I am starting to wish that I had a greater physical
presence. That or I need to work on my confidence because I think the students
can tell that I’m a little unsure of myself and they are exploiting it. I’m
glad that I am physically stronger than I look, but an extra foot or so of
height and perhaps a sex change would give me a little more authority in the
classroom. I did have to haul one first grader off of another for fighting, he
didn’t expect me to simply be able to pick him up and move him. More incentive
to work out while I’m here.

My road and Tetnuldi in the background

I’ve decided to start running again while I’m here (at least
while I can run on the roads, which might not be for much longer). I can’t go
very far at all (ie like a kilometer). I am telling myself that this is because
of the altitude to feel better about it. It’s very interesting because this
region seems to produce a lot of athletes so there are actually a fair numbers
of runners. I see at least one every single day. But there’s a catch. A big
one. Every single runner, every one, is male. I am the only woman running that
I have seen. Given the reactions that I get, I’m pretty sure I’m the only
female runner the Georgians have seen too. But, they all seem more pleased than
pissed about the breaking of gender roles. I get essentially cheered on by
everyone I see and my host father has taken to calling me ‘sportsman’. People
seem to know me too, since one night I was running past this house and the
father called out to his son (maybe 20ish, also leaving for a run) ‘Who is
that?’ to which the reply was ‘the new English teacher’. This all happened in
Georgian so I was glad to understand it, but it also made me laugh because
frankly I have no memory of meeting the son. So apparently I am known now.

My school!

Speaking of gender roles, I’ve found that I seem to belong
in this strange limbo land of being pretty clearly a woman, but I being Western
don’t have to conform as closely to Georgian gender expectations. It’s almost
as though I can be both a man and a woman. I can get away with running or
shirking household duties because I am an honorary man. I could sit at supras
and drink away if I wanted to (though again, drunkenness, not allowed ever).
But I am still expected to dress in a certain way most of the time, and I
notice the looks that I get as a woman. HBO and its like have thwarted me again
with the ideas it gives men around the world about Western women. I don’t seem to get the creeper stare when
out with any family member (10-year old Nini will even do) or when I’m running
weirdly enough, but just walking, completely allowed. The male gaze, for anyone
who has ever wondered, is a very real thing. It makes me and every woman I’ve
ever met exceptionally uncomfortable. That being said I have faced far less
harassment in Georgia than anywhere else I’ve lived. Full stop. Less creeping
than in the US. I think again the rural grapevine is working in my favor
because I’m understood as not really an outsider. I belong to the community and
to a family. Ergo, don’t mess with me because everyone will know and it will
get back to the zillion men in my host family who probably won’t take kindly to
it, since I am a kargi gogo (კარგი გოგო, good
girl). And you don’t mess with a kargi gogo. To overestimate the
importance of those two words is difficult, they denote not just the way you
act around men, but children, the church, work both in and outside of the home,
your attitude towards your family and your personality/sociability. My teachers
all agree and I think are already planning who to set me up with. I was asked
in the teacher’s meeting (which mostly consists of yelling) whether I was going
to get married in Svaneti (I had been here less than a week at that point). My
response? It depends on Svaneti. I felt it was the best response considering.

This is what Svaneti looks like to me

I’ve decided that I am in fact living in ‘How to be Georgian
101’. My host family has been wonderful including me in their everyday lives,
which I so appreciate. Last night my host father came home from Zugdidi where
he had been shopping. I tried some Georgian gum (which comes from some
unidentified plant that I can’t pronounce). I still have some stuck to my
teeth. He had also bought a ton of grapes. We crushed them and now have a blue
barrel in the corner of the living room where they are fermenting for
wine. My host father is determined to
teach me how to light the wood stove properly. Given how badly I fail at
camping this is an uphill battle, but I appreciate his willingness to teach. He
already asked me if I would be staying in town for Christmas, so presumably he
likes having me around. Nini certainly wants me to stay, which somehow
surprises a great deal since that would require her to do English over the
holidays. This morning my host mother showed me how to make cheese from fresh
milk and then how to make khachapuri, the national dish, from it. The process
was similar to making gubdari so I maybe sort of had it. Except not quite. I
seem to be in training to become a Georgian, but I always wanted to become a
part of the community and learn about the culture when I came. I’m glad that
I’m getting the chance to do that. Also, I’m going to have the most wonderfully
random collection of life skills after I live here. I feel like I will be able
to live just about anywhere in the world and do ok for myself so that in and of
itself is a skill.

My end of Mestia as the rain comes in from the Mountains

The cold is already starting to set in. The power went out
again this morning for a while so we were again dependent on the wood stove for
heat, light and cooking. I worked with Nini and Saba on their English while
Nato translated for me and peeled potatoes. We discussed the goals for the
various classes today and about my idea for an after school club for the older
kids with whom I don’t have as much time to work. English through rap. American
music seems to be popular just about everywhere so I figure rap might draw some
kids in who might otherwise not show up to a conversation club.

I also went for a nice walk this morning in the fog. The
mists covered the mountain that sits above us almost completely but strangely
enough cleared on Tetnuldi (other side of the valley), giving a stunning view
of the snowcapped peaks. I find myself wanting to romanticize life here for you
folks but I also want to be realistic. Life is hard. Power cuts mean that it is
difficult to get basic things done and the cold will soon be bone-shattering.
The school I work at has next to no supplies. The walls are largely bare.
Students are still getting textbooks. Chalk is rationed. Wood stoves are the
only source of heat in the winter and we haven’t gotten them out yet so the
building is freezing in the morning. Kids aren’t fed at school so the level of
concentration drops the longer the day goes on. The government runs a special
program to bring new graduates out to villages and towns since young people
flock to cities, despite youth unemployment being astronomically high. The road
I live on isn’t paved so after the rain it’s a muddy mess. Central Mestia has a
newly build commercial center that is empty and will be for the time being due
to infighting. This is a place of great
beauty and if I was just a tourist it would be easy to gloss over everything
else. Visitors are so often in search of ‘the authentic’ without realizing that
by authenticity they often mean poverty. They want life to seem raw, but where
the hell did the lights, wifi and hot water go? They seek the quaint, ruin porn
and blood feuds. Life here is so much more than that. I’ve only been here for a
little over a week but already I find myself at odds with some of the tourists
coming here, and the characterizations I find in the guidebooks of a mystical
swirl of history, a place suspended in time. Mestia is no such thing, it is…a
place that cannot be summed up in a paragraph and one that as an outsider I
cannot yet describe and perhaps never will be able to. But is it quickly
working its way into my heart.

3 comments:

I so admire your eagerness to see parts of the world through many different vantage points--host families in different countries, studying, teaching. I pray God gives you peace, joy, and PATIENCE (that's what I always needed Him to give me) as you settle into your new life there. Your pictures are stunning. Many, many blessings on your work there!

I graduated from Michigan State University in 2014 with degrees in chemistry, anthropology and Turkic languages. When not out globetrotting, I can be found perched in front of my laptop, sharing my adventures with you.